Dance in the Devil's Arms
by MarciaRebafan
Summary: 'It was easier to think of their marriage as a necessary evil rather than force herself to face the part of her that relished their new status.'


**A/N:** Another entry for the prompt 'sharing a bed' by electric-couple on tumblr. Clearly this prompt spurred my muse into action. The title comes from the song _Monster_ by Mumford & Sons. Feedback is always greatly appreciated!

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"Do you intend for us to share a bed as well?"

Hannibal merely looked up from the papers he had been arranging neatly into a manila folder. His maroon eyes told her he knew she was baiting him and he had no intention to rise to it. Bedelia almost huffed, disappointed.

"That is what married couples do," her new husband replied in a matter-of-fact tone, carefully devoid of any emotion. It irritated her more than she knew how to say, but a flash of anger in her eyes was the only way she allowed herself to show it. "But I had no intention to force marriage customs upon you, Bedelia, if that was your concern."

That was rich, coming from the man who had just essentially forced marriage upon her. But then he hadn't truly forced her, had he? Bedelia frowned, mentally berating herself for how easily she had given in to his proposal. She had told herself she had no choice, but they both knew it wasn't exactly true. So she had convinced herself that pretending to be his wife would allow them the safety she needed to keep studying him, to complete her project by stepping behind the veil with him. It was easier to think of their marriage as a necessary evil rather than force herself to face the part of her that relished their new status, the closeness sanctioned by a judge's words followed by their signatures on a sheet of paper.

The cool white gold of her brand new wedding band was bathed in red from the sunset as light flooded the room, and it caught her eye quickly, mocking her thoughts with its mere presence. The engagement ring was for show, of course, because there had been no time for them to be engaged at all. Knowing that deep down she wished it was more than a prop in the play they seamlessly carried on bothered her almost as much as the weight of it on her finger.

"There is only one bed," she pointed out instead, feeling both terribly foolish for pointing out such a blatant truth and terribly witty for calling him out on what she believed was his great plan to finally woo her into his bed. _Again_ , her mind supplied, but she angrily chased the thought away. "Clearly you had planned for us to share it."

"I had planned for you to take it," Hannibal retorted with the same tone of utter indifference. "The chaise longue in the study will do for me. I do not require much sleep." He closed the folder and took the time to move around the room and store it in a drawer, the special one with the false bottom that held evidence of most of their secrets. When he straightened and faced her again, there was a spark of amusement in his eyes, betraying the pleasure he found in knowing he had managed to make her back herself up against the wall. "Unless you want to share it, Bedelia."

He spoke her name like a caress, with a sweetness she suspected to be false and foreign to him, yet Bedelia felt herself shiver, a flash of arousal running through her.

Idly, she wondered if it was the adrenaline the prey felt as the predator advanced on it.

"I do not." She sounded more confident than she felt, and she knew he knew it too. She could see it in the subtle smile he gave her as he nodded, acquiescing. It wouldn't be hard to persuade her to change her mind, and his attacks to her iron-clad will would be slow and precise, laying siege to her with the patience she knew he was capable of.

That night in the bathroom, over a month after their wedding, she realized she may have won innumerable battles but she was, undoubtedly, about to lose the war.

"May I?" Hannibal asked very gently as he lowered himself to kneel behind her, where her head rested on the edge of the tub.

Her closed eyes fluttered open, unguarded for once as she gazed at him. The bath was making her feel languid, soft and warm, and she wasn't strong enough to send him away when thoughts of him had been on her mind the whole time, when she had been dwelling on the feeling of his strong muscles under her fingers as he led her into one dance after another tonight, drawing admired looks and words of praise from the people he instinctively sought to impress.

"Yes," she breathed, hardly moving at all. As soon as his fingers wound into her hair, pressing delightfully into her scalp, she had to bite her lip to muffle a soft moan. He was skilled, much more so than she had anticipated, and they both knew her resolve was crumbling as he massaged the sweet smelling shampoo into her hair.

Their marriage was consummated, at last, with a tenderness unfamiliar to both of them - or perhaps only to her, Bedelia thought, because Hannibal seemed to be far from unfamiliar with the slow kisses and caresses, and with the soft words he whispered in her ear as he pushed her over the edge more times than she cared to count.

Even the customary post-coital cuddling didn't seem to bother him, and she was secretly glad of it. It was a weakness she couldn't justify or forgive herself for, but she loved to lie in the arms of whoever shared her bed, as rare an occurrence as it was. There was an intimacy to it that pushed at her boundaries enticingly, so much more intense than sex. And she had to admit, begrudgingly as it may be, that she liked to have that intimacy with Hannibal.

"Do you intend to kill Professor Sogliato?" She asked after a long moment of silence. Someone else would have considered her question inopportune and unexpected, given their current state of rosy, hazy satisfaction, but Hannibal was not _someone else_. She liked that, too.

"Would my answer to that question change your thoughts about what we did tonight?" He asked in reply, shifting to glance at her. His fingers stroked through her hair, grazing the sensitive spot in her neck that he had seemed to find so effortlessly.

"No," Bedelia murmured after another long silence, her own fingers curled in the salt-and-pepper pelt on his chest. "I don't think it would change anything."

What they did tonight, she told herself, what she would certainly allow to happen again, had nothing to do with what he did, with the monster hidden behind the veil, clad in his genial person suit.

And yet, intrinsically, Bedelia knew she was only lying to herself again.


End file.
